The path of a villain usually starts off like this
by loopdedoop
Summary: This world is a prison and this home a prison-cell, and this is how Kamui paves his way to the sun. / A Kamui-centric piece.


A/N; Obviously inspired by ch. 515 aaahhh

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><p>The land of the Yato is a cruel and unforgiving one, befitting of the nature of a cruel and unforgiving tribe. The strongest leave the nest and the weak wallow knee-deep in the wasteland that is their inheritance.<p>

Here it rains all seasons on a tribe that cannot touch the sun. Here is Kamui, trapped by these overcast skies and drowning, because he lacks the strength to pull himself out, the strength to cut away weaknesses that bog him down and pull him under. Not strong enough to be a balding man's dependency, nor weak enough to be dependent on a dying woman and a crying little girl.

In other words, absolutely useless.

_I want to come with you_, Kamui thinks, when Umibouzu walks down the stairs on a path that led away from their little rundown building. This time, he had stayed for one night.

That broad back moves jerkily with a purpose. Umibouzu stops and turns his head, not quite meeting Kamui's eyes. "Take care of your mother and sister while I'm gone. I'll be back soon."

_Liar,_ Kamui thinks. His grip tightens around the handle of his umbrella and his other hand fists around the raincoat thrashing about.

"I know."

Kagura is screaming, crying, trying to break free of his hold. She's far weaker, younger, doesn't quite understand but cries out anyway. "Don't go, Papi!"

There are too many tears for a man that doesn't deserve them. The rain is quick to wash all traces away, but new ones form constantly at the edges of puffy eyes the same colour as his. Kamui shoves down the irritation bubbling at his chest; his own eyes watch a back fade into mist.

The rain continues to beat down. Kamui stands at the top of these steps and wonders what it would feel to walk down them, the steps that would lead out of this godforsaken land.

Entranced, his foot reaches out to take one step towards the edge. "Kamu-nii, Kamu-nii," a tearful voice jerks him back to reality. "Don't go. You can't go."

Kamui's smile doesn't waver.

"I know."

.

By day, Kamui learns to fight in the darker streets where those Yato who were trapped here spent their pent-up energy and transactions were settled with fists. Their kind has no use for weaknesses, not when the Yato are synonymous to strength itself in this galaxy, and this stands true even in those that are left behind. They don't take kindly to little families; especially not one with a father known for his strength throughout the galaxy, and look, here is one of his brats. There is nothing elegant about these street fights of the Yato, only heads cracking against concrete and bruises gnarling yellow and green on the ivory skin that their clan is known for. Kamui's footwork is rudimentary and his punches hurt his own knuckles more than his foe's jaw, but he can feel his own improvement with every connecting hit.

By night, he grows acquainted with rolls of gauze that hide the bruises and cuts, and hides the rest with a brighter and wider smile. He tells his mother that he's found a job, and brings home extra food and spoils from victorious fights. He tucks his sister in to bed and changes bandages that have bled through, and his smile never wavers. Improvement on this front, too.

.

He doesn't know when the King of the Night deigned to visit his miserable homeland, but the clouds knew and the rain welcomed him. Kamui is in another fight, now having started to make a name for himself and finding that there was no shortage of challengers seeking to bring down that name. He's outnumbered against a group of three Yato slightly older than him, but he gets out with only bruised ribs, a shallow cut to his collarbone that bleeds sleazily and a limp to his left leg. He starts to limp away and hears clapping.

He recognizes Housen, standing by one of the mucky food stalls. It's hard not to. His figure is imposing, the aura around him is imposing, and Umibouzu has ranted plenty about his number one rival. This is a man, no, a monster who stands on equal ground as Kamui's old man, and Kamui is just a little daunted.

So he smiles and skips over without so much as a limp to his step.

It turns out Housen is impressed, much more so when he learns that this is the first-born brat of _that Umibouzu who had diarrhea during our decisive fight, so I win in strength of sphincter muscles,_ and decides to take him under his wing. What could possibly hit your worst enemy harder than cultivating his son and training him under your own ways? Housen is a conniving old man, and Kamui sees through him immediately.

That's why he accepts without hesitation.

.

Kamui trains under Housen's tutelage and hones natural talent with stronger and stronger foe that Housen tosses his way. There's power in his kicks to break down concrete walls and his punches collapse jaws and snap necks. He is away from his house for longer periods of time but the amount of bandages don't lessen. A lot of his enemies fight dirty. He learns how to do that, too. He can't say he enjoys sneaking from behind, though. How can he send them off with a smile if they can't see it?

Kamui's mother grows frailer by the day. He can't stand being in the house with the grating coughs and Kagura's clingy, teary eyes that weigh him down. The pressure is suffocating. Out there, on the streets that are a Yato's battlefield, his smiles flow naturally behind every movement.

The time has come for Housen to leave. Kamui hears he has built a Shangri-La somewhere, and it grows restless without the King's imposing presence. Kamui shares no bond with his master, but sees him off at the terminal. He'd never once seen Umibouzu off.

"Your strength is wasted here," are Housen's parting words to him. "If you want to get off this miserable planet, I'll put a word in with the Harusame."

Kamui thinks about it on the way back to his house. This time, the bandage on his knuckles is from a moment of lost composure when he slams a fist against a large pile of bricks. They crumble from his power where once they hardly budged, and he wonders how strong he's become now. The rainwater stings his scraped knuckles as he stands there for a brief moment more, and then continues on his way. He cooks a lot of rice that night and realizes that his appetite has grown, too. He ruffles Kagura's hair, the same as his, except hers is soft and his is rough and gritty and the ends are uneven.

That night, he takes a long shower and sees the scars piled up on his flesh for the first time.

.

He goes back to the everyday street fights. Many of the regulars there must have missed him, because they all jump on him at the same time. For the first time, he stands victorious in a street fight against eight adult Yato. There had been no fight, only a one-sided massacre. Blood flowed in streams around him mixed with the rain pelting down, but none of it was his. His own blood rushed in his veins, pulsating beneath thin skin in an adrenaline high.

That's when he hears one of the spectators say that Umibouzu had come back. He'd just been spotted exiting the terminal. How proud Umibouzu would be, to see the strength of his son! You'd best head home and tell him, bring him here, the elderly man tells him.

Kamui's mind goes blank.

_Why?_

Why did he come back?

Kamui doesn't need him here.

He doesn't remember turning on his heel and running in the direction of his house. He doesn't remember how he caught the great Umibouzu by surprise and intercepted him before he could cross through the battered gate to their yard. The only moment rampant in his mind is his umbrella meeting flesh, tearing bone, and that strong arm that he'd once cowered under flying through the air and landing in a ditch aside.

Just like that. Time seemed to stop; father and son stared at the stump where Umibouzu's left arm used to be.

The next moment, Kamui found his head on the ground. The pressure slamming him into pavement was too much, dragging him into unconsciousness as he tried to get out of that vice-like grip to no avail. Umibouzu was too strong. Or he was too weak; they were two sides of the same coin. Either way, Umibouzu was going to kill him.

He thinks he hears Kagura crying, and gladly welcomes his world fading to black of it meant he would hear it no longer.

.

He wakes up, some indefinite days later. Kagura fetches him a glass of water, which he sips as tries to regain his bearings.

"Papi's gone," Kagura tells him reproachfully. The memories all come back after that.

"Papi will come back." Kagura's lower lip is wobbling. "Papi will be back, s-so don't go—"

Kamui feels the top of his head. It's been shoddily bandaged. He lowers his feet to the floor and finds that his sway is minimal. He's on the rickety sofa of their living room, and he can hear their mother coughing in the bedroom.

"Kamui."

Her voice filters out of the bedroom, hoarse and weak and firm.

"Come and visit once in a while."

The pressure lifts. With nothing holding him back and only an umbrella to his name, Kamui walks out of the house. He doesn't need to look back to know that Kagura is trailing him.

"Kamu-nii, Kamu-nii," she cries, as if tears had ever held any power.

Kamui walks down the steps that feel different this time around. Lighter. The rain falling around them is bidding him goodbye. He stops, and turns his head.

Smiles. "I told you," he says, meeting Kagura's eyes. "I have no use for weaklings."

.

Umibouzu wears a wig and pretends he has a bed full of hair; he comes back two times a year and pretends he still has a family, here.

Kamui will not, will never be like Umibouzu.

Kamui will not be back.


End file.
